Then it was that Slats Corbett, imperial head of the gang, did a good turn for the scouting movement. He picked up a half dry sponge which was lying in an auto wash pail and hurled it at Townsend Ripley. Without even turning, Townsend raised his hand, caught it, dipped it in the mud at his feet, and walking briskly back, smeared the face and head of the big ungainly bully, leaving him furious and dripping. Keekie Joe trembled at this rash exploit of his new friend and waited in fearful suspense for the sequel. It was not long in coming. With a roar of obscene invectives, Slats Corbett rushed upon the smiling, slim, quiet stranger, and then in the space of two seconds, there was Slats Corbett lying flat in the mud. In a kind of trance Keekie Joe heard a brisk, pleasant voice. "Any of the rest of you want any? All right, come along, Joe." And that really was the ceremony that made Keekie Joe a scout. It is true that they had a kind of formal initiation under the apple tree on Merry-go-round Island and gave him a badge and had him take the oath and so on and so on. And had him hold up his hand--you know how. But it was not when his hand went up that he became a scout. It was when Slats Corbett went down. That was the clincher. CHAPTER XXVII SETTLED AT LAST And now the wandering career of Merry-go-round Island seemed at last to have ended and it roamed no more over the face of the waters. On the contrary, it settled down to a life of respectable retirement on Waring's reef. Waring's reef was dry land at low tide, and even at high tide was close enough to the surface to support the trusty foundation of the fugitive isle. It stood exactly in the middle of the river at a spot where the stream was straight and comparatively wide, and commanded a fine view of the boat-house a mile or so downstream. There was more or less life down there during the ensuing week for the high school pupils made the place their own in the brief Easter vacation. It was on Wednesday that a couple of high school boys chugged up in a little launch and were about to land when Pee-wee forbade them by turning the traffic sign upon them just as they were about to set foot on the island. The island had been on its good behavior now for four days and had not so much as turned an inch. It seemed to have found a satisfactory home at last. "What do you call this thing, anyway?" one of the visitors asked. "It's a desert island," said Pee-wee. "Can't you see what it is? Don't you know a desert island when you see one? Gee whiz, you're in high school, you ought to know a desert island when you see one. I know you," he added, addressing one of the visitors; "you're on the basket-ball team, your name is Chase, your first name is Wingate and you're all the time going around with Grove Bronson's sister and he's in the troop that I'm not in any more."